


In True Midsomer Fashion

by shadowsamurai



Series: Choices and Decisions [3]
Category: Midsomer Murders
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Original Character(s), Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barnaby has finally reached breaking point - does he choose Troy or Joyce? And how can he choose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

TB-GT-TB-GT-TB-GT  
Tom Barnaby was not a happy man. Normally unperturbed by almost everything, he now found himself unsettled by the slightest noise, even someone looking at him from across the street. He had never been this way, never felt guilty about anything, never felt paranoid that everyone suddenly knew his secret.

He wasn't ashamed of that secret; the way Barnaby looked at it, he was simply being himself. He wasn't one way or the other; he just was. He couldn't help that he loved Troy as much as he loved Joyce, and not a day went by when he didn't wish he could change that fact. But Barnaby did love his ex-sergeant, thought about him almost constantly, saw him every chance he got. But somewhere along the lines, things had changed. What started off as a one time thing had progressed to some sort of casual relationship, which then became a frequent affair, and then suddenly, one day, Barnaby woke up thinking Troy was next to him, not Joyce. He almost said Gavin's name, found himself imagining Troy's face when he kissed Joyce good morning, and the whole incident confused him greatly.

Barnaby tried to forget about it, but he found himself thinking more and more of his ex-sergeant, wondering what it would like to do this and that with him, and it didn't take the detective long to realise he was in trouble. Big trouble. And he started to worry about the direction his life was taking, which was the reason he was unhappy. No one noticed, of course; Barnaby was very good at hiding things. But Joyce had started to change. She didn't kiss him when he came home from work any more, she didn't cuddle in bed any more, she seemed to spend more time away doing her social activities... It was almost as though she was avoiding her husband. Barnaby wondered if Joyce knew; they had, after all, been married for a long time and there was very little he could hide from her. But the more Barnaby thought about it, the more he doubted his affair with Troy was the problem; if Joyce had known, she would have said something. She wasn't a woman to beat around the bush, especially where her husband was concerned. And Cully, who was far more observant than her mother, hadn't noticed anything either, so Barnaby felt safe. Was it his wife's increasingly erratic behaviour that had pushed him closer to Troy, then, he wondered? Perhaps. But his relationship with Troy wasn't without its own problems. So why, then, had things shifted so drastically?

Barnaby was only half-listening to George as he described the gruesome death of yet another victim in Midsomer, but luckily Jones was paying avid attention to the pathologist and taking plenty of notes. Barnaby would just get the sergeant to brief him later. For some reason, the detective found himself more interested in the dead body.

Suddenly, the room was too warm, there were too many people about, and Barnaby just had to *leave*. He muttered something to Jones – it must have been good because the sergeant didn't even blink – and went quickly outside, taking deep breaths of the cool air.

He, Tom Barnaby, was in love with two people.

He was committing one of the, so he thought, most heinous sins: adultery.

He had been doing this for quite some time now, that wasn't the problem. The problem was the realisation that had suddenly hit him.

Tom Barnaby was *more* in love with Troy than Joyce.

How was that possible? He had been married to Joyce for many years, happily married as he would tell anyone. They had a beautiful, wonderful daughter in Cully. A nice house, a good job. He really couldn't ask for more. But he *wanted* more, wanted Troy all the time, wanted a different life, away from Midsomer, from murder and death. For an instant, Barnaby didn't want to do his job any more, a job he loved almost more than his family. For a second, he wanted to be someone else entirely, and that thought was enough to shake him up badly. Barnaby was a solid man, he never wanted anything he didn't already have, and he was always happy with what he had. But since being with Troy, he had discovered another side to himself, a side he had suppressed since his youth, a side that wanted to take risks and live for the moment. Maybe it was the fact he was getting old, Barnaby surmised, that was making him want to revert to his youth. Or maybe it was simply because Troy was younger. Barnaby didn't know the answer, and for the moment, he didn't care. He had far bigger problems to solve, mainly how to choose between Joyce and Troy, and how to let one of them down as easily as possible.

Barnaby went onto auto-pilot for the rest of the day, but both Jones and Stephens remained oblivious to the fact, which he was grateful. He flitted from one choice to the other, from Joyce to Troy, but the facts always remained the same; he couldn't hurt either of them, couldn't break Joyce's, or Cully's, heart like that, nor could he say goodbye to Troy. Now he had discovered what he had with Troy, Barnaby knew he wouldn't be able to live without him. But Joyce had been part of his life for most of his life...

But by the end of the day, he had made his decision. It wasn't something he wanted to prolong, and so he would now abide by his choice, no matter what. All that was left to do was to work exactly what he was going to say so that someone's heart didn't get shattered completely.

TB-GT-TB-GT-TB-GT

Troy tried not to whistle as he did his paperwork. It was almost the weekend, only another day to go, and Barnaby was coming down to visit. He was even staying for the whole weekend, and Troy couldn't have been happier. He didn't know how Barnaby had managed to get away for two nights and two full days, but he didn't really care. All that mattered was the amount of time they would get to spend with each other.

It was hard sometimes for Troy, having to share the object of his affection. While there had been others, Barnaby was the love of his life and Troy found it difficult not to turn round and say, 'I want everything!' But he wouldn't, he *couldn't*. He felt guilty enough already, felt like he was stealing Joyce's husband and Cully's father away from them, even though he knew he couldn't help falling in love with Barnaby.

When the phone rang, for an irrational minute, Troy thought it was Barnaby, even though they never spoke to each other while working. "Troy," he answered,

*"Detective Inspector Gavin Troy?"*

"Yes."

*"This is Detective Sergeant Jones, we met at Cully Barnaby's wedding."*

Cold filled Troy up, numbing all of his senses. "I remember. What can I do for you?"

There was a long silence, and it was then that Troy registered why he hadn't recognised the other man's voice. It was hoarse, shaken, the voice of someone who has just received some extremely bad news and now had to share it.

*"It's...I'm sorry, I don't have an easy way to say this, but it's...DCI Barnaby. He..."* Jones stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. *"He was on his way back from questioning a suspect and...well, we're not sure exactly what happened, but his car veered off the road and hit a tree."*

"And..." Troy bit his lip to stop himself from 'Tom'. "...DCI Barnaby? Is he?"

*"The petrol tank was almost empty. It exploded on impact and the fire...."* Jones stopped again. *"All that was left was the husk of his car, parts of his brief case, his watch, and his wedding ring."*

"I see. Thank you for telling me. I'll call Mrs Barnaby at home," Troy replied mechanically.

Jones didn't call him on his tone; he understood, at least in part, what the other man was going through. *"I'm sorry, I understand the two of you were close."*

"Yes. We were. Thank you for telling me." Troy put the phone down abruptly and all but ran from the office, making his way quickly to the bathroom. If anyone else heard his retching as he emptied the contents of his stomach, they never said anything.

Somehow, Troy made it home, though he didn't remember leaving the police station or driving his car down the streets. He was dimly aware of standing outside his front door wondering why his keys wouldn't open the lock.

"What the...?" The front door opened to reveal a dishevelled Dean. "You know how to ruin a guy's catnap, don't you, Gavin? Oh, and car keys are meant for *cars*, not front doors." He stopped suddenly and focussed on his friend's face. "Holy shit, you look awful. Woah!"

Troy's legs suddenly crumbled beneath him and Dean only just managed to catch him in time. With a bit of effort, he dragged Troy's limp body inside, pushed the front door shut, and then leant against it, cradling his friend's body to his.

"What's happened?" he asked urgently. When Troy didn't answer, Dean made an educated guess. "Is it something to do with Tom? I thought he was supposed to be here this weekend. I'd just convinced Tina to let me stay there. Honestly, how she found out I was sleeping with Sarah I'll never know."

"Dean, *shut up*!" Troy yelled loudly through his tears.

"Got a reaction from you, didn't it?" Dean replied calmly.

"I don't want a fucking reaction, I want..." He laughed harshly. "I want to go back in time and tell Tom to stay at home!"

"What's happened?" Dean asked, his voice gentle.

"He...he's...oh, Christ, he's dead."

The words hung in the air, suspended by the sound which made them true, which made it all suddenly very real. Dean, unable to think of anything to say at all, just held Troy while he cried.

TB-GT-TB-GT-TB-GT

He didn't want to be there, but both Joyce and Cully had been insistent. He felt like a criminal, like a liar, and if Dean hadn't offered to drive him, Troy knew he would never have been able to go to Barnaby's funeral. He didn't want to pretend to just be an upset friend; he didn't want to have to hide his feelings. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, of how unfair it was that the love of his life was now dead. But he didn't. He stood next to Joyce and Cully, and Simon and Ben Jones, and a woman called Gail Stephens. He stood and he listened and he tried not to cry. Afterwards, Troy wanted nothing more than to make a quick escape, but he knew he wouldn't be that lucky.

"Thank you for coming, Gavin," Joyce said, embracing him. "Tom always thought so highly of you."

"And I of him, Mrs Barnaby," Troy replied, his voice hoarse.

"I can't believe he's gone," Cully sobbed into Troy's shoulder when his mother released him.

For some reason, he relaxed a little with Cully. "Neither can I," he said, allowing a few tears to fall.

"If Dad had had his way, he'd never have let you leave, you know."

Troy pulled back to look at Cully, wondering if she knew about his and Barnaby's relationship. "Yeah, I know." Deciding his secret was still safe, he bent his head and kissed her forehead. "I've got to go."

"Can't you stay?" Cully asked.

Troy shook his head. "I have to work. You know what it's like."

Joyce managed a weak smile. "You're so much like Tom. He was very proud of you, you know."

"Thanks, Mrs Barnaby." Troy smiled back, nodded to everyone, then turned and left.

Dean was waiting for him. He didn't speak, just opened the car door before climbing into the driver's side and setting off. He didn't speak throughout the whole journey home, didn't utter a word as he guided Troy into the house. He just set him on the couch, put the television on, and then settled himself into the armchair, ready for another night of best friend-watching.

TB-GT-TB-GT-TB-GT

It was three months before Dean noticed a significant change in Troy's behaviour, three months before he started paying attention to things, before he started talking properly again, and even smiling on occasion. During that time, Dean had ditched both Sarah and Tina because he had found, and fallen in love with, Joanna. That was the first time he saw a slight improvement in Troy; he did nothing but wind his friend up for the evening. The jokes were weak, the quips poor, but he was trying.

"Hard day?" Dean asked as Troy came home, putting the kettle on to make his friend a brew.

Troy looked at him in amusement. "What are you, my wife?"

"No chance. I can't iron for shit."

"I thought you were supposed to be going out."

"I am. Later."

Troy grunted as he sat down. "So, how are things going with Joanna?"

Dean grinned sappily. "You know, I never understood that whole 'love at first sight' thing. Until now." He put a cup of tea in front of Troy and turned serious. "If I'm feeling only half of what you felt for Tom, then you were one hell of a lucky man."

"Don't let her go, Dean," Troy replied.

"Don't worry, I don't intend to. You going to be okay on your own?"

"I'll manage."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder as he passed him. "Oh, you've got post!" he called as he went upstairs.

Troy looked around the kitchen three times before finally spotting the post, sitting in the toast rack. Picking it up, he threw the junk mail and bills onto the same pile, but stopped at a handwritten letter. He began to shake and before he knew it, he was shouting for Dean.

"What? What's happened? What is it?" Dean asked as he rushed into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel.

"It's...this...can't be..." Troy looked at his friend. "Sorry, didn't mean to shout you."

"I know, you just wanted to ogle me in a towel, it's fine," Dean said with a smile. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure. This...this is from Tom." Troy held up the letter. "It's postmarked a few days ago. He must have written it and left it with his lawyer."

"To post three months after his death?" Dean asked sceptically.

Troy smiled slightly. "Stranger things have happened in Midsomer."

"We're not in Midsomer."

"Still." He brushed his fingers over the all too familiar handwriting. "I'm okay, you go back to showering. Sorry for disturbing you."

"You can disturb me any time, Gavin, you know that."

But Troy didn't hear him. He was too busy reading a letter from the grave.

TB-GT-TB-GT-TB-GT

The house was quiet when Dean got back, but that was nothing unusual. This, however, felt different and he gulped, a chill running down his spine. He should have known better than to leave Troy alone for so many days in a row. Ever since he had received that letter from Tom, he had been acting oddly, and even though he had said he was okay, Dean had the feeling he really wasn't.

"Gavin? Joanna wants to take you out for dinner. How are you set?" he shouted, though even as he spoke the words, he didn't really expect a reply. He knew, without knowing how he know, that Troy had gone.

A quick tour of the house confirmed that he was indeed home alone, and as he pulled a beer from the fridge, Dean saw the note. With shaking hands, he sat at the kitchen counter and read it, a lump forming in his chest. Finally he lowered the note and took a long swig of his beer.

"You fool, Gavin," he murmured. "You fool."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

TB-GT-TB-GT-TB-GT

The man looks out at the clock, then out of the window again. It's almost time. He doesn't really need to look at the clock, isn't really sure why it's in the house as time has no meaning for him any more. But occasionally, just occasionally, he likes to make sure his instincts are still right. After so many years, he would be surprised if they were now wrong, but then again, so much has happened over those years, and during the course of his life, that he shouldn't really find himself surprised by anything.

He moves through the small house with an easy familiarity, his fingers lingering on the occasional object. A picture frame with his favourite photo in it, another containing a piece of the past...of a different life. A book, an ornament, a table...it's all his life now, and he's happy for what he's got. He passes the bathroom and pops in to wash his hands after rearranging the window boxes. He takes a moment to observe himself in the mirror, still amazed by the changes he sees.

He's older, of course, and that means more wrinkles and more grey hairs. In fact, it seems to him that he's got more silver than anything else now, especially with the neatly trimmed beard that covers most of his face. He has lost weight as well, and is very tanned, and his eyes are calm and contented once more. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to go back, to see who would recognise him, but he dismisses those thoughts pretty damned quickly. He still hasn't quite gotten over what happened, still hasn't quite adjusted to everything. He should have by now, he knows he should, but sometimes these things aren't so easy.

The slightest tingle on the back of his neck makes him smile, and drying his hands off, he goes outside. The beach house is in a secluded spot, chosen deliberately so that nobody could see them if passing. In fact, if anyone did show up, they had to be there for a damn good reason as it was so far off the beaten track it was unreal. He stands and watches the sea lapping at the sand, his head tilted slightly on one side, listening. Then he hears it, the roar of an engine, the bouncing of the suspension as the battered truck comes up, dust clouds following it.

It's something of a routine. The truck's engine switches off and the driver stays inside the vehicle. He doesn't mind, he just stands and watch. Then, after a few heartbeats, the driver gets out. They don't speak, just smile at each other, and once close enough, kiss each other like they've been apart for months.

"I missed you," he says, and means it.

"I know," his partner replies.

As they go inside, they talk about their day. His partner has to work, mostly at a bar on the tourist beach a few miles from where they live. The pay is mediocre, but the tips he gets more than compensate for that fact. The older man sometimes thinks he should work, get a proper job, but as his partner points out, he's the home maker. He cooks and cleans and shops, and generally makes sure everything's where it should be. He does make ornaments out of shells, though, which his partner takes to a shop near where he works. They don't get much for them, but every little helps. The best thing is, the ornaments are just like hundreds of others, nothing special about them at all...nothing that attention can be drawn to.

Because that is their main aim; to remain inconspicuous. And for eight years, they've managed it very well, mainly because they haven't moved around. They found a place they liked and stayed there. Learnt the language, befriended the locals, and were accepted into the community. They always find it amusing when tourists ask the locals if any foreigners live in the area, and the locals reply 'no'. The younger man has even been asked that question, by someone who really didn't think he was English at all. It was a simple plan for them to exact, but an effective one.  
It isn't always easy, though. Sometimes the older man will get a distant look in his eyes, as though he's looking at something his partner can't see. Sometimes he stares out to the horizon with an unseeing gaze. Sometimes he sits at the water's edge and just cries. His partner has learnt how to recognise the signs, how to deal with each mood when it appears. He doesn't get angry, doesn't complain, he just does whatever he needs to do to help ease the older man's pain.

One day, his partner couldn't stand to see him in pain any more, and out of the love he felt for him, asked him the hardest question ever.  
"Do you want to go back?"

The older man looked surprised, then thought about it for a while. His partner wasn't worried; he knew it was a question that needed to be thought over thoroughly.

Finally, the older man smiled. "No. Would you?"

His partner shook his head. "Never."

As they set the table for dinner, Tom remembers that day, remembers that question, and he remembers what brought the subject up. Gavin received a parcel from his friend Dean, which included photos of Dean and Joanna's wedding, but there was also a separate envelope addressed to Tom. When he opened it, saw the contents, read the clipping, he almost fainted. An announcement of a birth, a baby boy, to proud parents Cully and Simon. A photo of Tom's daughter, his wife, and grandson. On the back, Dean had written 'Cully, Joyce, Tom.' It took Tom several moments to realise that Cully had named her son after him and suddenly the urge to return to England had never been as strong. Later that night, lay in bed, Gavin had asked him that question.

"Would you go back?"

That had been two years ago, and Gavin has never worried about Tom's commitment to him since. He would never stop him if he wanted to go back, and Tom knows that. But as he tells the younger man, it was a different life, and a different Tom. Not to mention the legal ramifications of raising himself from the dead; they both know those all too well. Disappearing wasn't an easy task, nor an easy decision to make, but Tom felt it was for the best for everyone. He couldn't have carried on living a lie, and he couldn't hurt his family or Troy. So in true Midsomer fashion, he took the only way out he could see. They weren't even 'Tom' and 'Gavin' any more; Tom found out that middle names came in extremely handy on occasion, and this was one of them. Where there was Tom Barnaby and Gavin Troy before, now there was Geoff and Alex Barns, though it took a long time to coax Gavin's middle name from him. And the locals...well, they have their own names for the couple, something more fitting and more...well, local.

"Parcel from Dean," Gavin says while Tom cooks.

"Another one? So soon?" he replies with a smile. "It must be all of two years since his last one."

Gavin ignores him and looks inside. "More photos." He shakes his head. "A letter. And a note for you."

Tom raises his eyebrows. "Me?"

"Yeah. Want me to read it to you?"

"Just the details."

"You know that's all Dean ever writes."

Dean is the only person from England who knows where to find Gavin and Tom. Gavin trusts him implicitly, and so Tom does as well. And even though no one is looking for them, Dean is still very careful. He never spends time writing long letters, he only ever sends short notes. Gavin isn't sure why, neither is Tom, but they know there must be a good reason for it.

Gavin reads the note and then looks up. After a few moments, when Tom realises he hasn't spoken again, he turns. "Well?" He recognises the expression on the younger man's face, and he sits down. "Go on."

Gavin takes a deep breath. "Joyce has got married again. A nice guy who works in Causton library. They've been seeing each other for a while, just before little Tom was born, apparently."

The silence that descends over the house is an odd one and both men wait, waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Tom stands, pale under his weathered skin. "I'm not hungry." He turns and leaves abruptly, leaves Gavin to just stare at the space he had until recently occupied.

The younger man sighs and places the note on the table along with the envelope containing more photos of Dean and a now pregnant Joanna. Gavin's eyes roam the room, taking in everything that is him and Tom, until his gaze comes to rest on the picture frames. One of Tom's past live, of Joyce, Cully and little Tom. Sometimes, only sometimes, Gavin wants to get rid of the picture. He knows its selfish of him, he knows he'll never have all of Tom, but jealousy still nears its ugly head on occasion. But then he looks at the photo right next to the other one, Tom's favourite picture, and he throws the jealously right out of the window. Gavin likes the photo too, taken about two years after they settled in the house, taken by the automated setting on the camera, the two of them outside on the beach, arms around each other, laughing not only with their mouths but with their eyes as well. Happy, and very much in love.

Tom's sat at the water's edge crying when Gavin goes outside. Wordlessly, the younger man puts a jacket around his partner's shoulders; the sun's setting and it gets cold pretty damn quickly at this time of year. That's always the pattern; when Tom's at the water's edge, he doesn't want company, just wants to cry himself out. Gavin knows it's guilt, knows he can't help, so he does the only thing he can, he keeps him warm and turns to go back to the house.

Tonight it's different, though. To Gavin's surprise, Tom grabs his wrist, the grip still strong. "Stay."

The younger man's eyebrows rise in surprise. Wordlessly, he sits down next to his partner, unsure what Tom wanted. The older man just keeps hold of his hand, keeps crying, and Gavin grows more confused by the second until finally, he makes an executive decision. Standing, he pulls Tom to his feet as well and drags him back inside.

"You can still cry, I don't mind, but why don't you do it in the warm?" Gavin says with a smile as he sets Tom down on the couch.

"Because I don't want you to share my guilt," Tom replies quietly. "You haven't done anything wrong."

Gavin can only stare in shock. "Neither have you." He sits down next to Tom. "Well, okay, so in the eyes of the law, maybe you have. I know the coppers back in England probably wouldn't be too happy with you, but none of this is your fault. It's no one's fault. We didn't make this happen, you didn't choose to love two people, it just turned out that way. What you did took courage, but it was the right decision because no one got hurt. Okay, well, maybe they were hurt a little, but that's the hurt that always happens in life. People expect other people to die. And look at their lives now. They still miss you but they also still love you. They think good of the memories of you, and now Joyce has remarried. From the looks of it, she looks happy too."

Tom looks up. "There's a photo?"

"Of course. You know it's the only way Dean knows how to communicate."

Tom didn't ask to see it and Gavin didn't offer to show it to him, but he wouldn't throw it away because he knows one day, his partner will want to see it, and will be able to smile while looking at it.

"That's good...that she's happy," Tom replies, wiping his eyes. Then he leans over and kisses Gavin. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Tom looks at his partner for a while, memorising all the new little lines that have appeared, the shade his eyes are today, and then he smiles. "I love you."

Gavin can't help the shudder that runs down his spine. Tom doesn't say those words very often, but when he does, it's always spontaneous and he always means it, and Gavin always turns slightly mushy at the sound of those words. "I love you too."

"I should hope so." Tom's smile grows. "So, did Dean have anything else to say?"

Gavin looks at the rest of the stuff Dean sent, then notices another note. "Yes." He reads it, then shakes his head and starts laughing. "I don't believe it."

"What?"

"Joyce's wedding, it happened in true Midsomer fashion."

Tom looks at his partner warily. "Go on."

"A dead body turned up."

"Whose?"

Gavin grins. "The vicar's."

Tom stares at him for a moment, trying to ascertain whether he's serious or not, then realises it doesn't matter. Slowly, he starts to laugh as well.

FIN


End file.
